Laid Low
by JAMF
Summary: A look at how Jim and Spock grow closer as they support each other through sickness, injury, and mental anguish. Slow-building slash. Part two: Jim faces a mission which brings back memories of Tarsus IV like a slap in the face. Cue one emotionally compromised captain and a first officer who is forced to choose between doing what is right and doing what is good.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes: First chapter originally written for the STXI Kink Meme. Slight editing from the original. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek 2009 and I make no profit from this work.**

The inhabitants of Mados III were progressive enough to know about Vulcan dietary restrictions and considerate enough to make accommodations for Commander Spock during the Enterprise's mission to renew a peace treaty with the small planet. Most unfortunately, the well-meaning people knew very little other than "Vulcans don't eat meat" and being primarily a meat eating populace, their concept of vegetarian cuisine was...somewhat lacking.

This would account for the unappealing bowl of broth that was placed in front of Spock during supper.

Jim Kirk eyed the greenish-grey muck that was sitting in front of his first officer. And then he glanced up at Spock. However, if the Vulcan was at all turned off by his meal, his face didn't reveal it - Spock looked just as calm and collected as usual and he accepted the bowl with the utmost courtesy. Well, the young captain thought, maybe this was just another one of those cultural differences that exist between humans and Vulcans. Maybe this was some sort of Vulcan delicacy that he was unaware of. Maybe Spock was looking forward to eating the bowl of sewage. At least he didn't have to eat it! So the captain shrugged and thanked God that he wasn't a vegetarian and turned back to his own plate which was heaped high with roasted animal parts that resembled beef in all the right ways.

During their time at Starfleet Academy, Spock had attended the mandatory classes on diplomacy and etiquette and general good behaviour for landing parties on colonized planets. And one of the most important rules for crew members on diplomatic missions was essentially, "unless you have reason to believe that you are about to be poisoned, just eat the food." Regardless of how ugly or bad-tasting or foul-smelling or slimy or burnt or _moving _the food is, the fact remains that it is unlikely to do you any real harm.

So the first officer was the very picture of good breeding as he obediently ate the broth. It wasn't too bad, really. As long as he didn't think about the taste or the smell or the texture of what he was putting into his mouth it was almost tolerable. He focused his attention on the conversation and the strange decor and tried not to dwell on the sensation of what felt like snot sliding down his throat.

Somehow the bowl eventually emptied and Spock felt no small amount of relief as it was taken away with the rest of the dishes. However he was unable to shake off the vague sense of impending doom that settled over him a few minutes later. He couldn't quite place it. There was no reason to for him to be feeling apprehensive - the crew was not under any discernable threat and the mission was progressing smoothly. It was quite illogical - as illogical as the beads of sweat that were collecting on his forehead.

Vulcans do not have sweat glands, a fact that most are unaware of and for good reason too. Sweat glands are not visible to the naked eye like the pointed ears and upswept eyebrows of your typical Vulcan. Due to the naturally hot, arid climate of their homeworld, it is quite uncommon for Vulcans to find themselves in an environment which they consider uncomfortably warm. Commander Spock, being a Human-Vulcan hybrid, inherited the trait from his human mother and although they were generally unnecessary for regulating his body temperature, sweat glands have a secondary function that Spock was becoming more and more aware of with each passing moment.

Sweating is increased by nausea and Spock was beginning to feel very nauseous.

The only reasonable explanation was the food. This wouldn't be the first time unfamiliar food disagreed with him. Over time, he'd become accustomed to the effects that alien food had on his Vulcan digestive system. Spock usually endured only slight discomfort after eating strange foods. However, this time he found himself growing more and more uncomfortable as sweat began to trickle down his temples and back and his heart began to race.

At least now that the meal was over they would soon be beaming back up to the ship where he could ensconce himself in his quarters until this spell passed.

Unfortunately, the fates seemed to have other plans. Kirk was sweet talking the leader of the Madosians, working his charm like a pro and completely oblivious to the declining condition of his first officer. And the Madosian leader was clearly amused by the lively young captain, which had its effect on Jim and encouraged him to turn up the charm. So it wasn't long before the alien was trying to convince Jim that the landing party should spend the night on the planet's surface and enjoy their hospitality. Spock unwittingly widened his eyes and glanced in the captain's direction.

Usually the captain would decline such a request and opt for the comforts offered by the Enterprise and the opportunity to remain close in case a message came through from Starfleet. However, having enjoyed the company of their hosts and the food and considering that there was no pressing need to hurry back to the ship, Jim took a moment to consider the offer. He briefly glanced around at the faces of his crew. Everyone appeared to be pleased. Except for Spock himself, that is. But that was normal.

So Jim accepted. And imperceptibly, Spock cringed.

Jim was pleased. Ever since he took command of the USS Enterprise, he'd found himself in a constant struggle to prove his worth. It was as though his higher ups were keeping a watchful eye on him, just waiting for the young, inexperienced captain to screw up so they could say, "See, we knew he wasn't ready for this. That business with the Narada and saving Earth was all just a fluke," and reassign their shiny new flagship to someone a little older, a little wiser, and a lot less cocky. It hadn't been easy for Jim to keep himself and his equally young and volatile crew out of trouble. There had been a few..._incidences_ but as long as Starfleet didn't catch wind of anything there was no harm done. (There was an unspoken agreement among the crew to keep any undesirable outcomes quiet – Jim wasn't the only one with something to prove and the less Starfleet knew, the less paperwork they'd all be doing in the end.)

If there was one thing that Jim excelled at, it was turning up the charm and winning over even the most stubbornly resistant aliens. He was good at it and it was generally fun and appealed to his daredevil spirit. And he knew that his continued success was driving his superiors batshit crazy. Whenever one of their diplomatic missions was going this well, Jim couldn't help but silently celebrate. So when the landing party was invited to remain planetside for the night by the Madosians and considering how much his crew seemed to be enjoying themselves, he simply couldn't turn them down. It could be considered a gesture of...interplanetary friendliness or something. That and he wouldn't object to another round of the Madosian version of scotch on the rocks.

He was a little taken aback when his first officer pulled him aside and asked for permission to return to the Enterprise immediately.

Spock wasn't exactly the most social guy you'd ever meet but Jim figured that he would recognize that accepting the Madosians' invitation would work wonders to improve the Federation's relationship with the alien planet. So his reply to the half-Vulcan's query was a simple, "Why?"

"There is a pressing matter that I must attend to," the Vulcan informed him a little stiffly. Which Jim translated to, "I am not interested in 'partying' with you lesser life forms and would rather get back to work than spend another minute here."

"Jeez, Spock," the young captain objected in a lowered voice. "It can't wait until the morning?"

"I must insist, Captain," Spock replied with a swift inclination of his head.

Well, he couldn't say that he was totally surprised. Lively social gatherings weren't exactly Spock's scene. He probably should have insisted that he stay, set a good example for the rest of the crew and all that. But shit, he didn't want to force the guy to endure the evening if he was going to be uncomfortable the whole time. Spock already looked uneasy about the situation insomuch as Spock ever looked uneasy. And he could easily excuse the first officer by telling the others that he had duties to attend to back at the ship – they wouldn't question it. Or care, probably. These guys seemed pretty laid back.

But before he could give his permission to Spock, the leader of the Madosians appeared at his side and insisted on showing his visitors to their temporary lodgings before their entertainment for the evening could begin. A moment later Kirk and his men found themselves being led through the building as their host chattered on, giving them an impromptu tour of the place. Oh well, Spock could endure another fifteen minutes or so before being released to the Enterprise. It wasn't going to kill him or anything.

Then again, now that he thought about it, the half-Vulcan didn't look right. Jim couldn't quite put his finger on it. He chanced a glimpse at his first officer. There wasn't anything glaringly wrong with Spock, he just looked...a little off. Kinda flushed. Or maybe that was just the lighting. Jim drew closer to him and quietly asked, "Hey Spock, is everything ok?"

Spock's tone betrayed no hint of malady as he replied, "Quite alright, Captain," without skipping a beat. Well, maybe it really was just the lighting.

They eventually entered a curved hallway lined with doors where each of his men was designated a room for the evening. Kirk expected Spock to take this opportunity to pull him aside again and get an answer from his captain. Instead without saying a word, Spock stepped through the doors of his own room which immediately slid shut behind him.

Huh. Jim raised an eyebrow. Well, that was...quite rude actually. Not like Spock at all. There was definitely something up with him. But he'd insisted that everything was ok. Maybe he'd just decided to suck it up and stick around until morning and wasn't very pleased about it. Or something. Jim really didn't know and he didn't have the time to stand around puzzling it out as he found himself whisked off to his own room where the Madosians repeated their invitation for him and his crew to join them for the evening. He nodded and thanked them and then found himself alone.

The moment the door shut behind Spock, he frantically glanced around and dashed across the room into the small adjoining washroom. He barely made it in time. As soon as he reached the toilet, Spock dropped to his knees and violently emptied his stomach contents into the bowl. The room spun around him in a haze of tile and glass as he retched again and again, grasping onto the sides of the bowl with shaking, sweaty hands. It felt as though his insides were twisting in knots, sharp and sickening. There was nothing he could do but wait for the spell to pass.

After a few minutes, when the urge to vomit began to slowly subside, Spock hit the lever and gingerly leaned back against the opposite wall. He shut his eyes against the stark lighting in the tiny room and tried to catch his breath. This was unlike anything that he'd ever experienced. As a Vulcan, his body was built to conserve as much fluid as possible so vomiting only occurred in cases of severe illness. So this spell was more than simple indigestion caused by unfamiliar food. There must have been something in that dish which was causing him to become ill.

Spock fought through his light-headedness and attempted to formulate a theory. The Madosians wouldn't have poisoned him, would they? No, that would be illogical. If they had any motives against the landing team they would have targeted the captain. It was much more likely that, with their primitive understanding of Vulcan anatomy, they served him food which was incompatible with his physiology. A simple misunderstanding resulting in what was shaping up to be a rather severe case of food poisoning. Most unfortunate.

After several minutes passed and his nausea began to return with a vengeance, Spock knew that something was very wrong with his body. A small voice of reason in the back of his mind insisted that the best course of action would be to contact the Enterprise immediately and request to be beamed directly to sickbay. Another reasoned that his condition appeared to be declining rapidly and it would be prudent to seek assistance before he lost control of his mental faculties. But a third, much louder voice shouted that he was about to be sick on the bathroom floor and that voice couldn't be ignored.

The world spun briefly and with a short burst of adrenaline the Vulcan darted across the bathroom floor on all fours. His stomach lurched he began to retch once again, coughing and gasping for air whenever he was able. This time when the spell passed, Spock was hit with a wave of fatigue which blurred his vision and left him feeling weak. On top of this, he felt as though the temperature in the room had dropped drastically which was made all the worse by the fact that his shirt was soaked through with sweat.

And this, of course, is when Murphy's Law decided to rear its ugly head.

Spock jerked in surprise when he heard the staccato sound of someone knocking on his door, proof of the toll his sudden illness was taking on his usually unshakable control. He knew exactly who it was, even before the captain's voice called out, "Spock, you in there?" And immediately his body tensed up. It couldn't have been panic that took hold of Spock. No, he was a Vulcan and Vulcans do not experience emotions and panic is a very distinct emotion. So what transpired next could only be considered the result of his illness and not panic. Nope. Not panic at all.

"Engage lock," the wide-eyed Vulcan called out in a quavering voice to the empty room. And then, with a sharp intake of breath, he remembered that they were not aboard the Enterprise where there a voice activated locking mechanism on his door. Even so, it most likely would not have made a difference if he had been on the ship considering that the captain possessed the override code for his door and in all probability wouldn't hesitate to use it.

He might have taken a moment to reflect on his error, to take note of his lowered reaction time, altered level of awareness, and confusion and recognize that he was beginning to lose control. But the captain had already opened the door and now he was making his way across the room and this was all highly distracting. Not to mention the fact that his mouth was quickly filling with sour saliva as the ground proved once again that it was in fact made of jelly and decided to sink and rise while he reclined there.

Spock fixed his gaze on a section of the floor and tried to focus on regaining control of his stomach. And for some reason thinking about the presence of his captain, of Jim standing there, looking down on him as he sat in a heap on the bathroom floor was not helping matters. So he didn't glance up when Jim appeared in the doorway and paused or when he slowly said, "O...kay...this explains a lot," or when he eventually knelt down beside him and leaned in and asked what was wrong. Spock was so deep into his trance that he didn't react until he felt a firm hand settled on his shoulder and heard a gentle but commanding voice say, "Spock."

He turned and looked at Jim. It wasn't just the motion of turning his head that pushed him over the edge. It was the shame of being discovered in a compromised state by his captain, by Jim of all people, and the guilt of having concealed his illness for illogical reasons and the frustration as he felt his carefully maintained control slipping away from him. Well, it was all a bit too much.

The first officer turned and fixed his gaze on his captain for 1.7 seconds. Then he paled, blinked once, parted his lips, and then lunged across the floor to empty his stomach once more as Jim recoiled in shock and blurted out a startled, "Holy shit!"

And thus, Spock's humiliation was complete.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: This is turning out to be a multi-chapter endeavour. I've got the next bit half-written so it shouldn't take too long to get it written up. Thanks to those who reviewed. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek 2009 and I make no profit from this work.**

Jim had made it all the way down to the main hall before he remembered Spock. He'd glanced appreciatively around the room the Madosians placed him in, contacted Scotty on the Enterprise to inform him that he'd be away from his precious engine room at least until morning, requested an overnight bag for each of the men, and made use of the facilities. He'd just been washing his hands when the others approached his room to collect their captain before they rejoined their hosts for the evening.

This is when he noticed the absence of his first officer. Spock wasn't among the group of guys who walked along with him which was to be expected. Spock was never late. Ever. The guy was chronically early. Every meeting, every shift that the commander attended since the beginning of Jim's captaincy saw his arrival at least fifteen minutes before it began. So Jim assumed that Spock already down there, awkwardly trying to avoid making small talk with the aliens. However, when they reached their destination Spock was nowhere to be seen. And none of the others had seen him since they first reached their temporary quarters.

'Huh,' he thought with a small amount of concern. If Spock was late, well, that could only mean that something had held him up. No big deal. He'd probably be along in a few minutes with a mundane explanation for the delay.

Fifteen minutes passed and Jim just had to check on Spock. The guy was never late like this. And he'd been acting all weird after dinner. And so he excused himself and made his way back through the winding corridors to Spock's room and knocked on the door. There was no reply. He tried calling. "Spock, you in there?" Still no answer. Hmm. Well, he couldn't imagine that Spock would be inside ignoring him – that would be illogical. Maybe he'd taken the opportunity to beam back aboard the ship when no one was paying attention. Jim scoffed. Yeah, that'd be the day. Perhaps Spock got lost on his way back to their meeting point. No, with his super-accurate Vulcan memory, that didn't was highly unlikely as well. In any case, it was clear that Spock wasn't around.

Oh well, he'd probably turn up in a few minutes and if not, Jim could just try him on his communicator. Or contact the ship and have them locate him the easy way. No big deal.

He was just about to turn and walk away when he thought he heard Spock's voice emanating from inside the room.

Jim didn't think twice about marching into the room. Closed doors had never been very much of a deterrent for him. And anyway, if Spock wanted him to keep out, he could have said so when he knocked – Jim couldn't guarantee that he would have listened but chances are he might have considered it.

He wasn't sure exactly what he'd been expecting to see when he entered Spock's room but he certainly hadn't been expecting to find his first officer slouching in a corner of the bathroom floor, looking like absolute hell.

At the sight, the captain's brain shut down.

Then it started up again a moment later and gradually registered the sight before him. "O...kay...this explains a lot," he said as he quickly knelt beside Spock. The man was pale, even for him. His face was shiny with sweat, his usually tidy hair plastered to his forehead. And he was trembling. A far cry from the usually unflappable Vulcan who he called his first officer.

Damn. Good thing he came to check on him. "_Jesus Christ_, Spock, what's going on?" Jim asked with no small amount of concern. "What happened to you?" But there was no reply. Spock's dark eyes were glazed over and fixed on the floor and it suddenly occurred to Jim that the Vulcan hadn't so much as blinked since he entered the room. Could Spock even hear him? Sure didn't seem like it...and that would explain why he hadn't answered the door. Jim's concern increased as he leaned in closer to Spock and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Spock."

Jim was relieved when his first officer finally responded and turned to meet his gaze. But that relief was short-lived. A split-second later Spock's bloodshot eyes widened marginally and he went as white as a sheet. Then he blinked slowly, swallowed, and Jim was knocked backward onto his ass as Spock made a mad scramble across the floor. Before Jim could react, the tiny room was filled with the sound of logical, cool-headed, dignified Spock puking his guts out.

"Holy shit!" was the captain's tactless response as he landed on his backside and the vulnerable squishy part of his elbow slammed into the edge of the door frame. Jim gritted his teeth and pulled himself back up into a squat while Spock retched and coughed. His mind tried to make sense of what he was seeing. It was just...bizarre! Spock was by far the strongest guy on the ship physically. And in the months since the start of their commission, Spock hadn't visited the sickbay once except to receive the inoculations that Bones insisted on shooting them up with every time they joined an away team and for the mandatory examinations after their return.

To see him like this was...well, as ridiculous as it sounds Jim had begun to imagine that this second-in-command was invulnerable. Of course, deep down he knew that the guy must have some weaknesses; it's just that Spock never seemed affected by anything.

To see him like this was messing with Jim's mind in strange ways.

Finally, the part of Jim that was a Starfleet captain and capable of taking responsibility for the wellbeing of others picked his jaw up off of the floor and reached into his pocket for his communicator. The device flipped open with a familiar chirping noise and he was just about to contact the Enterprise when Spock seemingly regained control for a moment and asked, "What are you doing?"

Stunned, Jim stared at the back of his first officer's head. "What do you think? I'm calling Bones." That was obvious, wasn't it?

"That is unnecessary," the Vulcan replied in an unsteady voice, his breathing ragged.

Jim gaped at him. "...Uh..._what_?"

"It is unnecessary," he repeated. "I do not require you to contact Doctor McCoy at this time."

Jim watched in disbelief as his first officer finally hit the lever, eased himself back against the wall, and looked at him with green bloodshot eyes. "You don't want me to call Bones," he clarified.

"No."

"Even though you're obviously sick."

"Correct."

"Even though you're puking your guts out and we're on an away mission and I'm not a doctor and there's very little that can be done for you down here...you still don't want me to alert medical?"

"That is an accurate reiteration, yes."

Jim's eyebrows were hovering just below his hairline. "Huh," he said eloquently. "Do you mind explaining the logic behind this decision to me, Mr. Spock? Because it's not making a lot of sense of me."

Spock took a long breath as his long slender fingers worried the fabric at the hem of his shirt. "I am experiencing..." He hesitated and quietly swallowed. "...Slight discomfort as a result of the meal provided to us by our hosts. It should pass in due time without medical treatment."

Jim snorted. "That's bullshit." This earned him the Vulcan equivalent of an unimpressed frown. It was a little subdued by the sweat-streaked face. "If this is your idea of 'slight discomfort' then I don't want to see you when you're_ really_ in misery."

Ignoring Jim's remark, the half-Vulcan continued on. "This is not the first time I have endured symptoms of this nature after consuming unfamiliar cuisine. I am accustomed to tolerating such effects for their duration without medical intervention."

"What!" Jim's eyes just about bugged out of his head. Had Spock been suffering this way after every field mission in silence? "Are you fucking kidding me? Spock, why didn't you say anything about it?" He tried in vain to submerge his own hurt feelings at this news. Did Spock think he was that big of an asshole that he would force him to attend these diplomatic gatherings if it was causing him this much harm? "Does it _always_ make you this sick?"

It was Spock's silence that gave him away.

Jim's eyes narrowed accusingly at this second in command. "It doesn't, does it?"

More silence. He's full of shit, Jim thought. He could almost hear the cogs whirring in the half-Vulcan's brain as he put together what was certain to be a most persuasive argument.

"...Nevertheless I prefer to remain here. My reasons are my own. I implore you to have confidence my judgement."

Hmm. Not very persuasive especially given that Spock had switched to breathing through his mouth and was quietly panting. It was almost painful to watch. "I'm sorry Spock, I'm having a hard time taking you seriously when you're sprawled out on the bathroom floor."

"Captain," the half-Vulcan said beseechingly, a note of frustration in his voice, as his eyes slid shut. He looked like hell. He was shivering. And he was absolutely one hundred percent serious.

Jim watched him in silence for a long moment. He's delirious, Jim decided. Then he quickly reached out and placed the back of his hand against Spock's damp forehead.

Spock's reaction was instantaneous. His eyes snapped open at the touch and fixed on the captain in an unblinking indignant stare.

Jim's throat tightened in dread. Spock's skin was frighteningly hot. Way too hot.

...For a human. It was then that he remembered that Vulcans operate on a higher temperature than humans and he realized that he had no idea whether or not Spock's temperature was within normal parameters. Spock's eyes were wide and round and staring at him, glassy and bloodshot. The sight of it startled him a little. It was creepy. So he quickly removed his hand and cleared his throat. "Uh...Do you have a fever?" he asked awkwardly.

Spock slowly blinked and turned his gaze away as he seemingly assessed his current state. After a moment he quietly admitted, "Apparently so."

Jim gave a sigh of dismay. "We need to get you to sickbay." As much as Spock was reluctant to go there really didn't seem to be another option. "Come on; please don't make me be a jerk about this." He didn't think that pulling rank on the sick, seemingly out-of-it Vulcan would help matters any.

Spock's fingers redoubled their grip on the hem of his shirt, leaving patches of deeper blue where the sweat from his hands had soaked through the fabric. He wasn't usually one to fidget as Jim was wont to do when he was feeling anxious. Something must really be eating at him.

When he didn't receive a reply, Jim's concern increased all the more. He examined the man's face. Spock visibly paled before his eyes. His eyebrows were drawn together forming a line between them, his lips were parted slightly, and his breathing was growing more rapid by the second. "I..." he started weakly. "I...nnnggg."

Before Jim could say another word Spock dragged himself up out of the corner, bent over the toilet, and started throwing up again. In a flash of panic, Jim tried to remember what the good doctor had done for him when he'd been in a similar state, which was tricky considering he was usually too incoherent to find his own feet during those episodes. He knew that Bones said, "Damn it, Jim," a lot and muttered curses under his breath the whole time but that probably wouldn't help Spock very much.

He remembered that when Bones wasn't firing hypos into his neck, he'd hold one hand on his back. Jim wasn't sure how much it really helped per se but looking back he figured that it was reassuring to know that there was someone there looking out for him. So after a moment of indecision he reached out and placed a hand on Spock's back, still amazed by the heat that the half-Vulcan was giving off.

After what was only a minute or so but felt a lot longer, Spock's convulsing finally tapered off and was replaced by shivers. Jim realized that at some point he had started rubbing slow circles on his back. He wasn't sure how Spock felt about the uncommon physical contact between the two of them but he wasn't complaining so Jim figured that he found it acceptable.

When he finally moved to sit back, Jim slid his arm behind the Vulcan and assisted him. Spock didn't meet the captain's gaze for a long moment. "I apologize," he muttered softly.

Jim's reaction was simply to shrug. "Better out than in," he replied lightly.

Spock nodded, his bangs now completely wilted against his forehead. "I would not have the crew observe me in this state," he confessed quietly.

Oh damn, Jim realized. He's embarrassed. He doesn't want anyone to see him like this. That's why he doesn't want to beam back up to the ship. "Spock," he started as gently as he could, "No one is going to lose respect for you just because you're sick." But as reassuring as he tried to sound Jim knew that if he was in Spock's position he'd be feeling pretty self-conscious himself. It's hard to maintain an air of authority when you're losing your lunch. Damn it.

At last Jim gave a long-suffering sigh and pointed an accusing finger at his first officer. "If you die down here and the Admiralty finds out that I didn't force you into sickbay I'm never going to hear the end of it!"

Spock somehow managed to seem relieved without actually looking relieved. "I assure you that I will not die, Captain."

Well, that was enough for Jim. "Alright, look," he started firmly, "if you're not looking a whole lot better in a couple of hours I'm contacting Bones and telling him to come down here. And you know how much he hates using the transporter."

Spock gave the smallest of nods. "It's quite illogical of him. The transporter is a perfectly safe means of conveyance."

Jim gave a brief chuckle. "No offense but right now you're not really the one to talk about acting illogical."

Spock gave a weary inclination of his head. "Indeed."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry for the long delay in posting – RL is a busy place. Having written this story this far I'm playing around with the idea of turning this into a longer project – a multi-part story about the development of Spock and Jim's relationship focusing on times when one has had to take care of the other and how they come to rely on one another. If anyone is interested please feel free to PM me and let me know what you think. Also, sorry about any inconsistencies with the formatting in this baby. I plan on reediting it all. Anyway, onto the whump...

Things just weren't panning out for Jim. The put-upon young captain found himself backtracking his way toward the point where he'd left his men and the Madosians and as he walked he tried to come up with a convincing excuse, a way to explain to the landing party and their hosts why both the captain and the first officer would not be joining them. So far he was having trouble coming up with a convincing lie.

He couldn't just tell everyone that he and Spock had to return to the ship. At first that seemed like the obvious answer; no one would question him on it. But Jim quickly realized that if the landing party needed to reach him for any reason the first thing they'd do would be contact the bridge. He would not be there. Neither would Spock. And then everyone involved would freak out just a little bit as someone, probably Uhura, jumped on the horn to ask him where the hell they were and what had happened to them. And at that point he'd be forced to spill the beans and Spock would wind up in sickbay _anyway_ and Jim wouldprobably catch hell for all of his efforts. It was a terrible plan. But he wasn't really coming up with a better one.

It would be so much easier just to be able to say, "Sorry guys, I gotta go make sure Spock doesn't pass out and aspirate his vomit." Hell, it would be so much easier just to _page Bones_ and pass all of the responsibility for Spock's wellbeing onto him – this type of thing was his job after all. But somehow he'd made a promise to Spock not to tell anyone that he was bowing before the porcelain throne. What a stupid thing to do.

"Damn it Spock," Jim muttered as he marched his way along the hall. Half an hour ago he'd been gearing up for a long overdue evening of guilt-free hang out time with some of the boys and a couple of easy going aliens. Now by the looks of things he was headed toward a long night of holding back Spock's hair. Spending an evening alone with Spock wouldn't be Jim's first choice on a normal day. Spending an evening with a Spock who was projectile vomiting, out-of-it, and considerably less receptive to his attempts at conversation than usual? Not his idea of a good time.

How often do peace keeping meetings end with drinks on the house? Not bloody often. And here he was passing it all up for Spock when, to be honest, Jim wasn't whether the guy even _liked _him. What a joke.

It was at this point that Jim slammed on the brakes and stood shock still in the middle of the hallway. "Why am I even doing this?" he asked the empty space in front of him. It didn't make any sense. He was passing up a good time and potentially getting himself in trouble in the process and he was doing it for someone who definitely wouldn't be inclined to do the same thing for him if the tables were turned. It certainly called his reasoning into question.

As it turned out, Jim didn't have very long to contemplate his motive before he became aware of the unmistakable sounds of footsteps echoing down the hallway. _Shit_. Well, plan or no plan it was time to face the music. Jim tried to appear as natural as he could as he resumed his quick pace along the hall.

Around a corner he found himself face to face with a scaled man with freakishly oversized eyes who he immediately identified as one of the servers at supper. The man at first appeared startled and then gave a smile of recognition. "Captain Kirk," the he trilled eagerly, "where have you been hiding yourself? The assembly has been waiting on your return. Were you able to locate your missing crew member?"

Jim gave a vague gesture back over his shoulder in response to the Madosian's enthusiastic rapid-fire speaking. "I, uh, yeah," he stammered. "I...was actuallyjust coming to find you guys just now. ...In fact." '_Well, don't you just sound like a douche?_' he silently admonished himself.

The enthusiastic alien didn't skip a beat. "Is everything well?" he inquired in that same overeager voice.

"_Actually_," Jim continued, "I was just coming to find you to explain that..." And then he trailed off. Jim was not usually one to ignore his gut and right now his gut was telling him that he was about to make this situation a lot more complicated than necessary. After a brief pause he continued, "Look, you seem like a good guy so I'm going to level with you."

He was answered with a solemn nod. "You have my attention, Captain."

"Do you remember my Vulcan first officer, the one who did a very convincing impression of a deaf mute during supper?" Big Eyes gave an encouraging nod. "Well, he's taken ill."

The alien gave a gasp and brought one scaly hand to his lips. "Oh dear," he exclaimed. "Nothing serious, I hope!" He looked so grim that it was almost funny.

Jim gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "No, no, he'll be fine! He's just not a very happy camper right now."

Big Eyes gave a sign of relief. "I am glad to hear it!"

"And I don't know how much you know about Vulcans but they're not the most open kind of people. Not just around strangers; Spock's like that with everyone, including the crew."

"And you?" the alien asked in a muted voice. He looked completely astonished.

Jim was a little taken aback. "Well, yeah," he stated dumbly. Why would Spock be any more open with him? They had a good working relationship but it wasn't like they were close or anything. Maybe these people had a hard time understanding privacy although Jim had to admit that _he _didn't really get Spock's need to keep everything wrapped up tightly either. "Anyway," he began again, "this is my dilemma. I've got a group of men down here who will be wondering where their captain is and a sick first officer I can't leave. I need to find a way to let them know that we won't be coming and I have to do it without telling them about Spock."

The alien solemnly nodded his scaly head in understanding. "He does not want them to know."

Jim grinned and snapped his fingers, grateful that he was getting the message across. "Yes, exactly!"

Big Eyes considered Jim for a moment. "You genuinely care about those under your command, Captain," he stated matter-of-factly. "I respect that." Before Jim could react to the unexpected praise, the Madosian gestured to the hallway behind him. "If you head back toward your rooms, take the second right, and open the first door you'll find a storage unit with some basic medical supplies. It isn't much but it should help your friend."

That last word surprised Jim. Amongst the impulse to laugh and correct the other man, pulled from somewhere in the back of his consciousness was the familiar voice of an elderly man saying, _'I have been and always shall be your friend.'_ Of course that Spock and the one losing his lunch down the hall were two very different individuals. But rather than get caught up in pondering the similarities and differences between the two Vulcans, and the likelihood that he and his first officer could ever reach the same level of camaraderie as their counterparts, Jim put that thought aside and gave his thanks.

The Madosian left moments later, having assured Jim that he would return to the assembly and inform them that the Captain and Mr. Spock had been coerced into taking a tour of locations of great historical significance on Mados III, that they would regroup with the landing party in the morning, and that the others were more than welcome to join in; Jim had seemed quite convinced that they would not be inclined to do so. And Jim went back to Spock.

First he stopped by the aforementioned storage unit to see if he could find anything useful. He'd been hoping for something to take the edge off of Spock's nausea, a hypospray, or even something he could take orally. Anything along those lines would suffice. Unfortunately, after fifteen minutes of fruitless searching Jim was forced to admit defeat.

"For fuck's sake," he cursed and he shoved another unhelpful box of crap back into place. There was nothing here to help Spock. Well, nothing medical. He'd found something that looked vaguely like loose leaf tea. At first he'd been excited because tea seemed exactly like the type of boring shit that Spock would be into. But then he remembered that the food was what got them into this mess in the first place so he'd shelved that idea.

A moment ago he'd been sure that he was going to find a quick-fix here. Now he realized what a foolish idea that had been. Still, he didn't want to go back empty-handed but Spock was probably beginning to think that he'd ditched him. As loathe as he was to admit it, it was beginning to look like Jim's only option was to ask Bones for help. Wonderful.

After another minute or so of procrastination, the doctor's less-than-cheerful voice rang through his communicator. "Alright," he grumbled, "What mess have you gotten your damn selves into now?"

"Hello to you too, Bones," Jim replied brightly. This was already going over well. "How are you on this fine evening?"

"Don't change the subject," McCoy replied gruffly. "The only reason why you'd be talking to me right now is because one of you has done something stupid like sticking part of your anatomy somewhere it doesn't belong. _Again._"

Jim eyes darted up and down the hall and ran one hand through his hair. "Could you be a little louder please? Because I don't think _everyone_ in the building can hear you."

"Cut the crap!" He could practically hear the vein popping out on the doctor's forehead. "Let's have it."

"Ok, Jesus!" Jim lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I just wanted to know if you could beam down something for an upset stomach."

"Why?" Bones asked threateningly. "Who's sick?"

Time for Jim to see if he could pull a fast one on the good doctor. "It's me," he lied evenly, "It's not a big deal."

Bones gave a long-suffering sigh. "What did you do now?"

"It's nothing," Jim replied insistently. "Seriously. The food down here gave me gut rot is all."

"Damn it, Jim," Bones groused, "I can't let you out of my sight for more than five minutes. You're like a child!"

Jim tried not to be offended. "Thanks for having so much confidence in me. Feels good."

True to form, Bones wasn't about to let him off the hook easily. And so Jim went through the motions of answering his friend's questions with Spock in mind; Yes, he'd vomited. No, he hadn't had diarrhea. (Well, as far as he knew.) Yes, he was the only one who was feeling sick. No, he hadn't been drinking. No, he hadn't eaten anything he was allergic to. (Probably. Jim wasn't sure if Spock was allergic to anything or if Vulcans even had allergies. ) No, he hadn't been bit by any creatures or had contact with any of the native flora. No, he really hadn't been drinking!

"If you've been vomiting you should be heading up to sickbay so I can give you some fluids," Bones said resolutely. "If you become dehydrated you're going to be a lot more uncomfortable than you are right now."

By now Jim was feeling worn out from the interrogation. He was leaning back against the wall and trying to keep from beating his head against it. "I am _fine,_ ok?" he said flatly. "Are you going to send something down?"

There was a long pause. Finally, Bones said, "If anything changes, you'll beam your ass up here immediately, you hear me, boy?"

Relieved, Jim answered, "Loud and clear."

And so, after a long battle Jim was in possession of one anti-nauseant hypospray. "I got it," he said as he pocketed the medicine. "Thanks Bones."

"You just remember what I told you," the doctor replied. "If get worse or if it doesn't get any better then y-"

"I'll cart my ass up to sickbay," Jim finished for him. "I understand. Are we done now?"

There was a pause. "...Why do I get the feeling that you're feeding me a cock and bull story to cover your ass?"

"Goodnight, Bones," Jim said with a grin. And with that he shut off his communicator and started back down the hall toward Spock.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Well, I seem to be with child. It's hard to find time to write when you're busy with day-to-day life but easy when you're perpetually laid up with severe morning sickness. I've been feeling a great deal of sympathy for Spock these days. So here is the next bit of whatever this is going to become. **

Spock was beginning to consider the possibility that the captain would not be returning.

Captain Kirk had been absent for a substantial amount of time. Spock could not be quite sure of precisely how much time had passed – another indication that he was not entirely in control of his mental faculties – but even if he had been travelling at a leisurely pace the captain would certainly have returned by now.

Reflecting on their previous conversation as he shivered on the bathroom floor, Spock recalled that Kirk had specifically said that he would return "shortly." Of course, the word has variable definitions but from the way he had left the room in such haste and made a point of reassuring him that he would return after a brief interval, Spock had inferred that the captain's intended course of action was to briefly reunite with the others, excuse them both, and come back to the room immediately without detour or delay.

He had seemingly been incorrect.

The Vulcan braced himself against the bathroom wall as his heart began to race and his mouth was once again flooded with saliva. Not that it really mattered whether or not Jim returned. There was little that he could do for him right now. Not unless he made a habit of carrying antiemetics in his person which was highly unlikely, even for someone with as many food allergies and intolerances as Jim Kirk.

When he could no longer ignore the urge Spock crawled back over to the toilet, leaned over the bowl, and after panting for a moment he began vomiting bile. Initially Spock had believed that once the offending substance was ejected from his body, his symptoms would begin to subside. Unfortunately it appeared that the opposite was true. The vomiting seemed to become more frequent and intense with each episode despite the growing hollow feeling in his abdomen. And as unpleasant as his nausea was, it was nothing compared to the pain. With the effort of retching over and over, Spock felt as though he had strained all of the muscles in his abdomen making this a uniquely painful experience.

This episode felt much longer than the ones that had come before. Or perhaps it was just the fatigue affecting his mind. After what seemed to be a very long time Spock gingerly settled himself back against the wall. Then the shivering resumed and the cycle was complete once again.

Spock was beginning to consider that perhaps it was time to admit defeat and surrender himself into the doctor's care. It was simply not logical to remain planetside if the illness did not appear to be resolving without assistance. Furthermore if his ailment had not run its course by morning, and it certainly showed no signs of doing so, he would be obligated to return to the Enterprise and present himself to the medical staff regardless. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. Spock also realized that he ran the risk of becoming dehydrated and developing an electrolyte imbalance if he was not able to hold down any fluids.

Yes, his current course of action was certainly most illogical. Spock resolved to contact the Enterprise presently.

...

...Several minutes passed and Spock made no attempt to access his communicator. Evidently resolving to follow a course of action and taking steps to achieve the decided-upon goal would require varying degrees of motivation.

He briefly considered the very real possibility that he might vomit on the transporter pad upon return to the ship.

Spock then experienced a moment of extreme distress - to call it panic would be a fair assessment - but he immediately quashed it before he could become entirely overwhelmed.

He had to stay in control of his emotions. It was imperative. Panicking was never productive but it would be even less beneficial in _this_ situation. And so Spock decided that he would be calm. As a Vulcan and as a Starfleet officer he had been trained to remain impassive and focused even in dire circumstances. He would not "lose his cool" as the colloquialism went, surely referring to the human race's affinity for assigning temperatures to states of emotion such as "warm affection" and "ice cold fear." Spock drew his arms up around his body as he continued to shiver. Given that the temperature in his quarters was so unacceptably low would they consider losing his temper and flying into a "red hot rage" to be a fitting solution? As it was, Spock was experiencing mild irritation due to the lapse in the climate control of the room. Generally the temperature of his private quarters was maintained at a considerably high level so to return after his shift to find the atmosphere was significantly cooler than the rest of the ship was intolerable. Perhaps the system which assessed the current temperature of the room was malfunctioning. He would have to contact engineering to report the issue and have it properly seen to.

Spock lifted himself up off of the floor, paid no heed to the surprisingly noisy sound which his stomach gave in protest, and after a long moment spent steeling himself against the light-headedness which threatened to send him staggering into the wall he walked, somewhat steadily, into the main room.

What followed next for Spock was a long moment spent looking for the door. According to his memory the exit to his room was located to his right but now it was located to his left and furthermore there appeared to be a window where his door used to be. It was perplexing. He spent a long moment wracking his fever-addled brain, analyzing whether the newly relocated door would still lead to the hallway. These changes, of which he had received no prior notification, would also need to be addressed with engineering. Unable to locate any means of communication nearby, it seemed necessary to travel to the engineering department where he could speak with Lieutenant Commander Scott directly.

Dazedly, he passed through the door but to his consternation this only led to further questions. Spock was completely disoriented by the sudden awareness that he was entirely unfamiliar with his surroundings. This hallway did not resemble that of a starship.

...But he must be on the Enterprise because there was the captain coming toward him down the unfamiliar hallway.

When Jim first turned the final corner and found Spock standing outside of his room he couldn't have been more pleased. 'I guess he's feeling better!' he thought with no small amount of relief. Thank the stars above! Now Spock could head back up to the ship without any unwanted attention, he could rejoin the landing party and enjoy the company of the Madosians, and best of all no one would get in trouble for damaging Starfleet's half-Vulcan golden boy.

And then Spock spoke. "Jim..." he said in a strange, disconnected sounding voice, "the Enterprise...they have changed the hallways."

Well, that line certainly caught his attention. "What th-," he started, and then he actually got close enough to Spock to actually _see_ him and realized that the man was far from okay. Spock looked green and not just metaphorically speaking. His face was flushed and his eyes were bloodshot. And he was swaying slightly. It was so weird. "Uh," Jim said carefully, "What are you talking about?"

Spock gave a vague sort of look around at their surroundings and then shook his head. "I do not understand...When were the doors relocated?"

'Oh fuck,' Jim thought in horror as he stared slack-jawed at Spock. 'His mind is broken!' Just perfect. The last thing he needed on his hands was a man who was able to pick him up and throw him across the room _and_ not currently in possession of his mental faculties. The idea of contacting Bones and having him retrieve the first officer was looking more and more appealing by the second.

Instead Jim gave it the old college try and assumed what he figured was a non-threatening stance. "Ok, Spock," Jim said gently, as though speaking to a young child, "I think it's time for you to go to bed now."

Spock's brow furrowed as he glanced down at the floor – he seemed to be deep in thought. "The time...I cannot recall." Then he fixed his glassy eyes back on Jim. "What is the current time, Captain?"

"You don't know?" Jim exclaimed in mock surprise. "That's not like you! You must be really tired!" Spock seemed to be considering this so he continued. "Anyway, it's very late. You look like you were just about to go to sleep."

To Jim's great relief, Spock actually nodded his head in agreement. "Yes..." he said quietly. "Yes, I am quite fatigued..."

"Ok then!" Jim said enthusiastically as he gestured toward the door. "In you go!" And fortunately, Spock entered the room without any protest.

When Spock froze in his tracks halfway into the room, Jim knew that his good luck had ended in the worst possible way. "Spock?" he called out cautiously.

Spock paused for a moment, glanced quickly around the room, and clapped one hand over his mouth. Jim watched in horror as his first officer spun on his heel, took two quick steps forward, bent in half, and vomited through his fingers onto the floor.

Jim's fingers tightened reflexively around the hypospray that McCoy had just given him, the one that he had briefly forgotten about upon discovering Spock in the hallway, the one that could have been put to good use about 45 seconds ago. He glanced down at the shiny stainless steel object with a grimace before stowing it safely in the waistband of his trousers. Then he hovered behind Spock hesitantly for a moment before taking the taller man by the shoulders and steering him toward the lavatory, avoiding the mess on the floor. "Come on, let's go this way," he said in the most reassuring voice he could muster. "We'll get you cleaned up. No problem."

Spock was silent as Jim brought him into the washroom and filled the basin with water. His hand was still hovering in front of his mouth as Jim positioned him in front of the sink, placed a damp cloth in Spock's other hand and took hold of his forearm to guide it up toward Spock's face. And all the while, he was talking. Jim did not seem to be saying anything of consequence as far as Spock could tell; he was having some trouble following the one-sided conversation. But he did catch "...don't worry, this kind of thing happens to everyone..." and "...nothing to be embarrassed about..." and "...look at it this way; at least you don't have the squirts at the same time. Trust me, that's the worst." And while Spock did not find that statement satisfactory at all, he did understand Jim's intention. And through the haze in his fever-addled mind, he appreciated the effort.

Once he was cleaned up, Jim took hold of Spock's shoulders once again and steered him back through the room to the bed. He was dismayed by the amount of heat coming off the guy despite his obvious shivering. "Spock, I don't know what temperature you're supposed to be," Jim remarked, "But I'm pretty sure you're way hotter than normal." It would serve to explain a lot. And Spock, who had seemingly abandoned any attempt to pass his illness off as nothing, replied with a soft, "That is a fair assessment."

Spock sat heavily down and barely had time to blink before Jim knelt down before him, pulling a small metal device into view. "Alright Spock," Jim started as he held up the hard won hypo, "This is for you. It's going to make you feel a lot better but you're probably going to pass out for a few hours."

Spock closed his eyes, looking as tired as Jim had ever seen him. "I welcome it."

Jim took that as permission to administer the medication so he held it up to the half-Vulcan's neck and deployed the plunger with a hiss. Spock didn't so much as flinch. He watched Spock for a moment, wondering how long it would take for the drug to kick in. Hopefully soon enough that they could avoid another fiasco. But barely a few seconds had elapsed before Spock's head suddenly dropped toward his chest and then popped back up as he was jerked back into consciousness, his eyes wide open but glassy and distant.

Jim chuckled as he lowered the empty hypo to the floor. "Well, that was quick." Although after everything Spock had been through that evening it was no surprise that the sedating effect of the medication was enough to do him in. He grabbed the hem of the blue science officer's shirt and pulled it up over Spock's head to reveal the soft black undershirt beneath. Then he placed his hands flat against Spock' chest and gave a gentle push. "Alright, it's night night time!" he said to his drugged out first officer.

Spock gave an unfocused mutter and laid down on the bed without any resistance and within a matter of seconds his eyes were once again closed and his breath evened out as he finally fell asleep.

Jim breathed a sigh of relief. It was a good thing he'd promised not to tell anyone about this because he was pretty sure they wouldn't believe him without photographic evidence. He could barely take it all in himself. 'Yeah, this is about as unlikely a set of circumstances as I could have imagined' he thought with a shake of his head, 'but, well, here we are!'

With Spock now out of commission Jim set about wrestling off his boots, pulling the blankets up over him, and then as an afterthought, finding and soaking a cloth to place on the Vulcan's forehead in an attempt to dispel some of that unnatural heat from his body. After taking care of the mess from their earlier mishap Jim stood back and felt pretty damn pleased with himself. Even Bones would be proud of him. Too bad he would never know.

Now there was really nothing left for Jim to do but go to sleep himself. He couldn't really head out to find the other men when he and Spock weren't supposed to be back until the morning. Besides, he didn't really feel like socializing anymore. But before he could leave for his own assigned quarters a thought came to him – what if Spock woke up all disoriented and confused again. There would be no way for him to know...unless he stayed in this room tonight.

Now that the thought had occurred to him he couldn't shake it. Damn it. Without a chair in the room there was nothing for him to do but settle himself down beside the bed with his head resting against the mattress. It would be an uncomfortable-as-hell sleep but it was only for one night. With one final glance up at the sleeping Vulcan, Jim closed his eyes and fell asleep to the sound of Spock's soft, even breathing.

...

When Spock finally opened his eyes again the room was bathed in the dim sunlight of very early morning. It took him a moment to recognize his surroundings. He was still planetside. On Mados III. Gradually he noticed that his limbs felt heavy and disconnected and he was having some difficulty focusing – telltale signs that he had been under some form of sedation.

After a moment of searching his memory Spock began to piece it all together. He'd become ill after supper. The captain had discovered him in his assigned quarters. Kirk had promised to refrain from telling the others about his condition and left to excuse them both. When he returned...Spock found that his memory became incomplete at this point. He'd been confused and very unwell and the captain...

The captain had given him assistance. He could recall the feeling of the younger man's warm hands on his shoulders, steadying him as they walked together, bits and pieces of sentences, Kirk's voice trying to reassure him. As Spock slowly sat up in the bed something white fell from his face. He glanced down into his lap at the now dry cloth. Ah. He had been fevered. That explained the lapse in memory. For a moment he assessed his condition. The nausea had all but resolved completely. In fact, he found that his appetite had returned and he was in need of nourishment. He also found that his boots and blue uniform had been removed, the shirt folded neatly at the foot of the bed. And his boots...

Spock glanced over the side of the bed for his missing footwear which was sitting just as neatly a short distance away. However it was quickly forgotten when he noticed the tousled blonde head of hair resting against the mattress. His eyes widened slightly in surprise. There was Kirk, sitting by the side of his bed, fast asleep and looking as though he had been there for hours. "Captain?" When the sleeping man didn't respond Spock tentatively reached out and gave his shoulder a gentle nudge. "Captain. Wake up."

At this Jim said, "Mmmuuurrrrh" which prompted a raised eyebrow from Spock. A moment later he opened his eyes, ran one hand over his face, and glanced back over his shoulder. "Hey," Jim said in a gravelly voice and then cleared his throat. "How'er'ya feelin'?"

"I seem to be almost completely recovered," Spock replied as he looked down at the bleary-eyed man.

"Glad to hear it," Jim said with a sleepy half-grin. "It's good to see you looking and sounding back to normal."

Rather than point out that it is impossible for one to perceive sound using one's sense of sight, Spock asked, "Have you been sitting there for the entire night, Captain?"

"Jim," he replied with a grunt as he began to heft himself up off of the floor. "It's Jim, Spock. And yes, I have." As if on cue his back gave a loud crack of complaint.

"...I appreciate your concern," Spock said as he began to rise out of the bed. "And the attentiveness you demonstrated at the expense of your own comfort, Captain."

At this Jim gave an agitated sigh. "For fuck's sake! Can't you just call me by my name? Is it that big of a hang up for you?"

Spock took a moment to decide how to respond. "...Regardless of our current circumstances we are technically still on duty. Therefore it is appropriate that I address y-"

"Look!" Jim interjected with a dismissive wave of his hand, effectively cutting him off. "I don't care about any of that. You didn't have a problem calling me Jim last night and you shouldn't have a problem with calling me Jim now!"

Spock didn't respond. He was too focused on trying to recall exactly what he had said and when he had said it but found that he was unable. As though he could read the Vulcan's mind, Jim carried on. "I don't know how much you remember about last night but what I did for you? I wouldn't just do that for anyone." He took a few steps toward Spock and raised one hand to point at him, his features set in a look of intense determination. "We're friends now, ok? You are me are friends. So unless we're on the bridge you call me Jim. Got it?"

And Spock could not think of any acceptable response in the face of Jim's intensity except to say "Affirmative." And then a few seconds later, because Jim was still staring at him intently, Spock added, "Jim."

At this Jim seemed satisfied and his arm dropped back to his side. "Thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going to go rinse off before we have to be back on the ship." He walked toward the door and gave a backwards wave. "See ya in a bit, Spock."

After the door shut and Jim disappeared from sight, Spock sat back down on the bed and began to pull on his boots. Soon they would meet with the other crew members and beam back up to the ship to return to their posts and, as Jim had promised to refrain from sharing the details of the prior evening with anyone else, everything would remain unchanged.

Everything except his relationship with the Captain. It is understandable, having observed an individual with whom you have a strictly professional relationship in an utterly compromised position, that the experience could impact your perception of them in one way or another. Still, it did seem odd that Jim would, based on the events of the previous evening, determine that they were no longer simply colleagues, but also friends.

As he rose from the bed, Spock considered how he felt about having Jim Kirk as both his captain and his friend.

He decided that he found it agreeable.

**There you have it. It's very late and I've finally finished this story arc. I'm thinking of writing a second part in which the tables are turned and Jim is the one in need of looking after but whether his ailment is emotional, physical, or mental I haven't figured out yet. If anyone would be interested or has any ideas they'd like to suggest please let me know. Otherwise thank you for reading! **


End file.
